


Keep Me On Your Radar

by theprincessed



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dancing, First Meetings, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 20:47:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2481875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprincessed/pseuds/theprincessed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is a go-go dancer. He meets Harry and there's an instant spark that they take advantage of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Me On Your Radar

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I'm tentatively working on a few things at the moment, but I terribly miss posting fic so here's another throwback. I think I wrote this one day after too many episodes of a Queer as Folk rewatch.
> 
> Title from The Saturdays' _All Fired Up_ because I decided long ago that it's Louis' song. 
> 
> Originally posted 6 June 2012.

Louis ties his shoelaces and stands up to take a look at himself in the mirror. Lots of people are milling around, getting ready too, and although trainers look a little ridiculous with his outfit (if you could call it an outfit in the first place), he’s adamant that he won’t do without them. He’s on bar duty tonight for a big chunk of the evening and he’ll be damned if he’s going to step up there in bare feet where they could get sticky from spilled drink or cut on unfortunate broken glass shards. He’s a dancer, not a motivational speaker able to walk across hot coals.

As it is, he can’t actually see his feet in the mirror without contorting his legs into a position he’s not comfortable displaying in public and isn’t really all that flexible with. So, with a deep breath in, Louis grabs the edges of the square mirror on the table and eases it onto the floor, leaning it back gently. He twists his feet this way and that and sighs because he really does look a bit like a fashion statement gone disastrous, never mind wrong, because they don’t exactly go with shorts. Okay, hotpants. But then what does go with hotpants?

“Glitter yourself up, boys. You’re on in five!” shouts a voice from somewhere in the black ether.

Oh yes, right. _Glitter_. He’s lucky he doesn’t have to cake the stuff on with a trowel, saved by a tall, impressive drag queen guest performer who once told his boss that he “shouldn’t have to cover up such natural beauty”. Just a sprinkling here and there, maybe a swipe across the high points of his cheekbones, simply anything to catch the lights and lasers to make him glow and project an element of fantasy.

That isn’t to say he doesn’t indulge in the reality. He tells himself that this is for the money, to fund a dream he doesn’t know of yet, but he’s been in the exact same club for two years and still hasn’t quit. He won’t pretend that the attention he gets isn’t a nice ego-boost, although it’s usually tinged with insecurity before he goes out and afterwards when he returns to their little room off the main rooms of the club. Do I look good enough? Is my dancing okay? What do these people really think of me? Do they think anything at all?

It’s fairly early in the night when Louis steps out and he knows this because the place isn’t packed to the rafters like usual, but he has no doubt that it will fill up eventually. The cluster of dancers break off and Louis and one other guy he vaguely recognises as quite new and dark haired head towards the bar, helped to stand there by the waiting barmen grasping a hand each. Louis’ ascent is smooth and practiced – _bit like me really_ , he thinks wryly – and he flicks at the feathery wings shrugged onto his back like a soft jacket just once to make sure they stay out of his way. It’s hardly original, devils and angels, but the punters always seem enthusiastic about it and that’s great for Louis and his tips so he never complains about the clichéd nights. Besides, there’s a mischievous twist because they’re black instead of the typical white. He overheard someone who makes these sorts of decisions saying that black made the shimmery gold hotpants stand out more. Louis rolled his eyes, unseen. Like they needed to “stand out”. They’re fucking _hotpants_! His personal favourite theme though had been a homage to _Grease_ , remembers laughing himself silly and then turning sympathetic eyes on the poor bugger who had to be the Sandy to a myriad of Dannys, Louis included. 

Tonight the music is already pumped loud and booming and the minute they’re up there they are expected to do their thing, so Louis shuts his eyes briefly to centre himself before he starts to move slowly at first, building a rhythm and letting the mix of pop, chart remixes and dance classics filter through his head and into his limbs. It’s not rocket science or particularly acrobatic, although every once in a while, the bar is marginally cleared enough for Louis to slip in the odd cartwheel as the climax (no jokes please) of a crescendo or the end of his shift. 

The club starts to heat up when the volume of people steadily increases just like the warmth beginning to seep into Louis’ muscles as he sashays and wiggles. It almost makes him forget that he’s standing on a darkened bar in nothing but trainers, ridiculous gold hotpants and his skin. Doing it for the money, doing it for the money, doing it –

He’s thrice the way through his self-indulgently amusing mental singalong when he looks out across the dancefloor and spots someone shuffling in from the stairs. He’s practically being shoved along with the fresh wave of bodies that come crashing in from midnight onwards and yet he’s tall and broad enough to seem like he’d be in control of the situation if things got even more hectic. He unwittingly comes closer in Louis’ line of vision and Louis has to sternly remind himself that he’s working and to keep dancing instead of stopping to drool. This place isn’t short of lookers, he’s had a few of their hands slip notes into his waistband and a few more go further than that back at his flat and Louis can already tell from the desiring tug in his stomach that tonight’s man falls headfirst into the potential for the latter category if he so wishes.

With this in mind, Louis will admit that he starts to show off a little in the hope of catching the tall guy’s eye. He seems to be with a sizeable group of friends and they have an easy charm about them, radiating how close they all are between touches and laughs and shouts struggling to be heard over the music. Louis forces himself to turn around for a moment because at some point in the evening he’s got to stop being so coy and bring out the big guns. Every slackened raise of his arms highlights the swell of his biceps and jut of his shoulderblades, shining under the fast changing lights from sweat and glitter, and he swaps the tantalising hollow of his throat or firm expanse of his chest to draw attention to the impressive curve of his arse. As a boy who likes dick, it’s a spectacularly handy asset to have and the notes start curling into his hotpants quicker until he has to stifle a giggle at someone only being able to get as far as tucking one against his thigh. Once it gets impossible to move with bits of (valuable) paper sticking to his skin, Louis tries to make a move so he can crouch nearer the bar and hand his stash to one of the barmen he trusts to put aside for him until he’s done for the night. The barman gives him a thumbs up and Louis happens to look over his shoulder, scoping out who else he can seduce into showing their appreciation for his body or his skills, when his eyes lock with the tall guy. Louis realises that he is blatantly watching, staring at him, and has no idea for how long but the smirks on his friends’ faces seem to suggest all he needs to know.

Never too shy to enjoy an obvious compliment, Louis flashes him a mischievous grin before doing another slow cartwheel then twirls back to his previous position. He decides there that the tall guy is the best looking person in the club, with his curls half loosened into waves and the angle of his jaw prominent against the backdrop of his surroundings. The broad expanse of his shoulders, how he could probably be great at looming sexily, almost makes Louis want to shiver until he spots his hands. _His fucking hands_. His palms look big, like he could swallow Louis’ waist whole, his knuckles rounded and stark underneath the paleness of his skin and his fingers are a long way off stubby. It’s not fair really; the combination of big hands and nice fingers shouldn’t happen because it’s bound to be deadly. Louis finds he’s subconsciously breaking out rolls of his hips and letting his own fingers brush against his shoulders and over his torso, his breathing and heart rate kicking up a notch but drowned in noise. He’s dressed simply; apparently fond of giving his collarbones a good airing, but Louis can’t really care about any of that when his body has decided that he’d like to tear all those clothes off anyway. With his teeth. The tall guy doesn’t seem to mind being watched in return either, if the naughty quirk of his mouth is any indication and what a mouth it is. Louis’ sure that with the tall guy’s lips and hands and his arse they could take over the world. Or at least get himself fucked senseless.

Louis craves a break to yank back some of his composure and wipe the sweat from his brow, his carefully styled hair beginning to dampen the longer and more vigorously he pulls out all the stops. He feels like he is melodramatically dancing for his life right now because suddenly there are no other clubbers, there is no dancefloor and barely any music. He’s listening to the beats inside him instead, in a far off place, telling him to keep his eyes only for the hottest bloke he might’ve ever wanted to take home. He very nearly moans in relief when the current remix peters out before segueing into something else and, in the gap, Louis can have the opportunity to collect himself. He loses eye contact with the fit lad as he’s offered a hand on the way down and the barman who’s keeping casual guard on his money gingerly clasps his shoulder with a “take it easy, man”. He can obviously feel the light sheen of sweat on Louis’ adrenaline-shot body and he gives a short nod and a smile as he climbs over to the other side of the bar, his winged back to the dancefloor.

“Can I buy you a drink?” 

Louis feels a tremble rock through him at the sound of a voice somewhere off-centre from directly in his ear and when he gives a sidelong glance it is most definitely who he had his eye on as he comes to stand next to him, shoulder to slightly sticky shoulder.

“I’m not – ” he stumbles over his words, unlike him, because of the stupid hint of roughness in this guy’s tone. He tries again, steeling himself. “I shouldn’t accept anything from customers.”

He raises a sceptical eyebrow. “But you take their money?”

“Touché,” Louis nods, like he’s got him with that one. “Except I need money to live.”

“You need water to live too.”

His mouth drops open falsely now, eyes widening to complete the act that’s already fallen into banter. “You’re only offering me water?!”

He chuckles; his eyes a pale green, but something about his stare makes them seem so much more intense. “Just an example. Although If I _was_ offering to buy you a drink, what would you like?”

“Hmm...” Louis ponders, trying to look away from the burning gaze but failing so hard. “Well, I shouldn’t really have anything too fizzy because I’m only on a break and hiccups are annoying, so. A beer would be nice.”

“A beer it is.” He turns to the bar they’re standing in front of with an already winning smile. “Two beers, please. Thanks.”

“But – ”

He cuts in firmly. “– You need it to live. To keep sane. I’m Harry, by the way.”

“Louis. Cheers.” he replies to the tall guy - _Harry_.

The barman is quick to hand over their drinks, darting here and there to help other customers clamouring to get his and his colleagues’ precious attention. Louis’ grateful for the rushing around and the blaring noise ringing in his ears because he can still feel the line of Harry’s body, his shoulder slightly higher than his own, and he’s fallen onto his shy side. Contrary to popular belief, he does have one but it usually only surfaces when he’s fully dressed and just Louis, not Louis the guy who happens to dance the night away in one of the trendiest gay clubs in London wearing next to nothing. He toys with the edge of the label wrapped around the bottle cupped loosely in his hand and finds he can’t speak anymore as all that’s going through his head is exactly what he’d love to do to Harry (get on his knees for him) and what he’s wishing for in return (his mouth looks even more sinful this close, perfect to lick him open until he’s screaming and coming just from that). He’s sneaking glances and Louis guesses he can’t say those thoughts out loud so bluntly. Harry looks as jittery, admiring from afar being the easiest part.

“Um.” his lips form the shape at the same time that Louis says a short thanks, intending to end his break and get back to work.

But he feels Harry’s hand – oh god, his hand – seize him by the wrist and roots him to the spot. Louis looks up into his face a little in surprise and there’s a beat, a beat where he knows Harry won’t let his end when it comes to the crunch. Before they know it, they’re giggling with shared embarrassment at their moment of being coy, the situation all too real. Harry takes a step closer and Louis turns so that their bodies are a hair’s breadth away from touching. He tilts his ear slightly, neck baring vulnerably, as Harry leans forward.

“I, uh, I don’t really know how to ask this,” he carefully enunciates so Louis can hear him properly. Louis stays silent, encouraging him to continue. “Okay. So, Louis. How much would I have to pay for a private dance? You’re very...talented.”

“A taxi home?”

It slips out of his mouth before Louis can think straight enough to catch it, but Harry barks a delighted laugh against his ear and his fingers are still clutching Louis’ wrist so he doesn’t try to apologise. This isn’t just banter or compliments on his ‘talent’ from an objective eye. This is _flirting_ with intent and they’re drawn to each other. Louis’ about to say that although he didn’t mean to say it quite so flippantly, he does mean it, but he catches his boss skulking around the edges of the dancefloor and makes a decision to postpone anymore conversation.

“Hey,” he says, hand leaning on Harry’s chest to catch his attention, “I’m finishing early tonight. If you wanna stick around...”

Harry nods in acceptance, his green eyes bright and a tiny frown line between his eyebrows from intense concentration. His tongue snakes out to trail over his lips and Louis’ fingers flex on the sliver of bare collarbone as he fights the urge to kiss him. He mouths “later” then swivels and hops gracefully on top of his bar corner again as another song begins. It’s jam-packed now, getting wild from alcohol and the amount of flesh from young, virile men on show.

Harry must wave his group of friends nearer because he hovers close to the bar like he has no choice and is being kept there by the sheer force of proximity to strangers. But every time Louis glances over at him, he’s watching. Louis tries to ignore that for the most part, throwing himself back into his work because at the end of the night he wants to get paid properly as well going home with a hot guy. He ruffles his hair clutching at it and moves his hand down to draw the back of his palm across his forehead, feeling sweaty and tingling from exertion and pleasure. 

Two hours later, every limb in his body still rolls and waves to the pulse of the music, pushing his hips back and his arse out and he’s praying that Harry doesn’t try to deliberately make him hard when he sees him do that lick of his lips once more. Louis flushes all over, but he can see the boys who will take over from him starting to arrive for the last part of the night, so he slides down onto his hands and knees just in case, turning it into a sensual crawl in the opposite direction to Harry, giving him an idea what he might be in for later as hands clamour for drinks and to wave notes at him with loud cheers and leery whistles. Some can be right perverts or nuisances, but sometimes they can be like Harry – gorgeous, flirty but respectful. He finishes on his feet again, a confident stance with a slow thrust of his hips, fists grabbing at beams of light. Grinning, he looks over to Harry and sees that his eyebrows are raised. It looks like a challenge rather than surprise.

For the last time that night, he shakes the barman’s hand and smiles at him in thanks as he slickly shucks the black feathered wings strapped to his back and covertly shoves them beneath the bar. He’s got better things to be getting on with than worrying about taking care of props. Louis takes his kept money from the same guy as he debates getting properly changed before seeing Harry, but he’s sweltering in his skin and can’t shake Harry’s gaze roaming him anyway so he charges head on.

“Do you do that every night?”

Louis laughs. His eyes flick away for a second then meet Harry’s face again. “Not really.”

“Good. No one would be able to resist you, fuck their sexuality.”

He hesitates next despite his sure words, but Louis welcomes Harry’s hand settling into the small of his back with a hopeful smile. They both feel too warm and yet it doesn’t seem to matter enough to pull away. Besides, as Louis presses his thighs in close to the angle of Harry’s body, he thinks he can feel how much Harry doesn’t give a fuck about anything except him. He eyes his friends nearby, but only because Harry ducking his head gives him the view, by which time it doesn’t matter because Louis feels lips gently at his neck.

“Got somewhere to go?” he asks, a little breathless.

Louis bites back any noise that isn’t talking. “Here? Right now?” Curls flit onto his bare shoulder quickly in a nod before Harry straightens to full height and looks him in the eye. “Backroom?”

Louis takes his hand in his before he can say a word and starts elbowing his way to where many go for a quickie and more. He has no idea why Harry asked him right this minute, but that’s a big part of the thrill and excitement and it keeps him walking. The music is just as loud and heavy of bass in this space off to the side of the large expansive room, except now there are the wet sounds of sucking and fucking too. He’s never one to use this place for kicks even when he’s scored a warm sexy body for the night, but something about Harry makes Louis realise that he doesn’t want to wait and it appears that he feels the same. They could take the edge off at least.

They find a spot that isn’t too close to anybody else and Harry catches Louis a little off guard as he crowds him into the dark wall before he can turn around, his clothed erection stiff between the cheeks of Louis’ arse. He breathes out sharply and twists in Harry’s armless hold to quickly scrunch his hands in soft, damp curls, bringing their lips together in a hotly searching kiss. Harry kisses sincerely but cleverly and Louis leans into him, going a little weak with his hands simply resting on Harry’s waist to clutch at his t-shirt. He can’t seem to settle on Louis’ body quite so easily, fingertips trailing over his shoulders and down the sweaty length of his spine until they slip over the shiny gold material of his hotpants. They flex and tighten in a full on grope and although it’s not the first time someone with a brain has copped a feel of him there, Louis finds a needy moan tumbling out of him. He wriggles his own hand towards the fly of Harry’s skinny jeans and he impulsively squeezes him in return before trying to free his cock from his clothes. It becomes a light-hearted battle which Harry probably ‘wins’ as he lets the elastic of Louis’ shorts thwack against his back on purpose when he tugs his dick out too and wraps his big hand around the sure grip of Louis’. He aligns their erections together and strokes them each into hardness and Louis’ powerless to stop him, not really sure that he wants to. He wants to make some kind of unnecessary crack about half his arse being on display for all and sundry, but has a feeling that Harry would be ready with a quip as well and, besides, he can’t find the breath to make the effort.

“Fuck,” he pants, nuzzling his face into Harry’s collarbone, “your fucking – Jesus, your fucking _hands_ ,” 

“I’ve been told I’m good with them,” he smirks, thumbing at the wet tips enough to hear a whimper.

If anything that seems to spur on Harry on to continue using his thumb to rub into the dip at the crown of his cock, making Louis jerk with stuttering hips and doing it over and over with undisguised, smirking glee to get the same reaction. Louis groans into his neck as they slide against one another, sticky with precome, and he knows he’s hurtling towards coming across Harry’s skin and has to do something if he wants to stop it. Wanting to get close anyway, Louis gives up his vice-like grasp on Harry’s waist to pull up the hem of his t-shirt until he’s tucking the material beneath his armpits. There’s a slight colder stirring in the air from being in a dark, exposed corridor and Louis grins as Harry’s body shivers a little then again when Louis angles his head down and takes a peaked nipple into his mouth. He doesn’t even realise about the more than average number of nipples until he’s enjoying mapping out the feel of Harry’s torso with his left hand and his mouth. He stops, fascinated, and tries to stare through the poor excuse for lighting. He feels Harry squeeze his dick with a flick of his wrist and Louis lets out a breathless chuckle, incredulous that Harry could even think that Louis would forget what kind of position they were in because he’d just found out something a little unusual. He traces the lower two of Harry’s nipples with a fingertip and watches him squirm a little. The nubs are tiny but perhaps they are especially sensitive and Louis mentally files that away for later, thoughts of getting fucked whilst being on top and pinching them between his fingers flowing unbidden. He rocks into their still joined hands around their dicks and bites over Harry’s jumping pulse to feel him clutch at Louis everywhere and it seems to make him talk.

“I know - ” he starts gruffly, swallowing hard and Louis flicks out his tongue to chase the movement, “I know this is probably – uncouth, but – um – I was wondering – I’d love to – I want you. For the whole night. I want to be inside you, Louis.”

“Shit, I thought you’d never ask.” he replies, begrudgingly untangling himself from practically rutting against Harry’s hip if it means they can continue this elsewhere. “Fuck. Yes. My place okay? Right. Er. Wait here.”

Louis holds his hand briefly, reluctant to let go even as he’s turning to leave because damn it, he’s still hard and if he didn’t want to go several rounds with this guy he’d be choosing to stay right where he is, thank you, with big warm hands, a solid grip and a mouth that’s capable of dizzying heights of distraction. However, he absolutely does not squeak from surprise when a hand in the waistband of his too-tight hotpants roughly hauls him backwards again. Harry swivels round as Louis hits the wall. Dazed and remaining aroused, maybe even moreso, he can see the white of Harry’s winning smile and feel his palm immediately return to his crotch. His cock is tucked back in behind the material but Harry yanks it down under his balls and makes that move from Satan on the head once more.

“Sorry, I’ve changed my mind a little. Can’t let you go just yet. Gotta make you come in this sinful fucking outfit.” his whisper intensifies as he leans in to Louis’ ear, breathing more laboured as his lips trail wet and close. “Look so good I could eat you.”

Louis whines for the unsubtle implication of those words and a faster pace and thinks how unfair it is that Harry doesn’t even look ridiculous with his belt and jeans undone. He somehow makes it look sexily dishevelled and thinking about him is really not helping Louis’ situation...or maybe it is. He fumbles for Harry’s forearm, trying to boss him and makes the mistake to clutch at the hair at the back of Harry’s head to bring their eyes level.

“Please,” Harry begs and Louis wants to laugh at how fast he’s swinging from adorable to hot all the time and feeling absolutely drunk on it, how _he’s_ the one with the pleading. “Wanna make you come, Louis. And then, back at yours, I’m gonna get you hard and make you come again, maybe more. Fuck, I wanna see it, Lou.”

His hand is slick now and _sounds_ just as slippery and the heat is curling in on Louis because he’s no longer got Harry’s body to distract him much, to exact his own revenge on. His wrist is pinned to the wall behind him and the one that roams Harry’s hair doesn’t seem to want to leave anyway, so all Louis can do is push up and moan louder the closer he gets to coming.

“If – if you’ll let me – ” Harry grits out in a determined if shaky voice, his gaze squinting into a frown, “ – I’m gonna _fuck_ you all night, Louis,”

“Oh my god,” he shudders, his mouth tensing then immediately relaxing in a gasp as he gives in and comes, his cock throbbing between their bodies. “Yes, please – please – _please_ \- ”

Seconds later, he’s distantly aware of a sticky hand being wiped on his bare thigh and Louis aims his fist half-heartedly at Harry’s shoulder in response, too lazy and giddy with desire to actually think about really making him pay. This time when he pulls away from Harry’s spidery embrace, he is not beckoned like before. However, a couple of steps in, he can’t resist one more look. His cock is quickly stuffed back into his tiny outfit and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get to watch Harry come soon as well, just for the fact that he now has to walk through a mass of people with telltale stains drying on his skin so he can gather his belongings.

“Wait here.” he pauses with a tilt of his head, considering the possibility that someone else might try and hit on Harry whilst he’s gone. “Or better yet, wait outside. I’ll be out in a few.”

Louis tries to be as quick as he can make it, but is still relieved when he stumbles out from a back door and rounds the corner to step into the bright lights and spot Harry gloriously waiting for him like he hoped. He fiddles with the strap of his satchel twisted against his shoulder and smiles tentatively as Harry’s eyes unashamedly look him up and down. It’s odd, feeling like he’s completely naked when dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and hooded top left open with the strings tied at his collarbone and it’s obviously more clothes than Harry’s ever seen him wear but maybe it’s because the hunger that he wants to see Louis properly naked isn’t lost on either of them. 

They fall into step beside each other as they mutually decide to start walking to Louis’ place. It’s not that far, Louis tells him, and feels the increasing shyness of a first meeting that wasn’t actually a first date, but paused with Harry’s hand on his dick making him come in his...hotpants. He can’t help his giggle and shakes his head to get rid of the moment before he catches Harry looking at him anyway, amusement in the upturn of his very kissable mouth.

“So.” Louis clears his throat and mirrors Harry’s stance of hands in pockets as they casually amble through quietening side-streets, “Are you – I mean, why were you in a gay club? I know you were with friends, but...”

“What, straight blokes aren’t allowed, are they?”

Louis frowns, suddenly confused. “But you’re not – you can’t – _are you_? Straight, I mean.”

“Relax.” Harry chuckles and Louis’ face loses its wary tension as Harry shrugs, “I just like people. I like you.”

“Oh. Thanks. I’m glad, otherwise that handjob could’ve turned out very awkward,” he jokes, a pleased smile growing.

“What about you?”

“Me?”

Harry gestures with his hand then stuffs it back in his pocket with a stilted laugh, “Are you...?”

“That might be up for debate.” Louis says, making a non-committal noise, “I’ve had girlfriends in the past, but...I like dick too. A lot actually, when I think about it.”

“That’d be the definition of bisexual then,” he teases, knocking their shoulders together.

“Can’t I ‘just like people’ too?”

“Sure.”

“Well, I like you.” 

They grin at each other and it only feels a little stupid when they realise they’ve stopped walking, too engrossed in their conversation to pay attention to where they’re going. Louis looks down, sees Harry’s thumbs pressed over the pockets of his jeans like a reminder.

“You and your massive hands.”

“Lucky for you.” he quips, without missing a beat.

Still making their way through a maze of streets, Louis looks over his shoulder at a wheelie bin in front of the delivery exit of a takeaway restaurant and the corner of a darkened alley. It’s far from ideal, but if there’s one thing that Harry doesn’t truly understand yet, it’s that Louis can be incredibly impulsive when the mood takes him. He turns to the man before him again, mischief in his blue eyes as he curls a finger behind the buckle of Harry’s belt and starts to pull him in as he walks backwards towards the building. Harry’s back hits the wall gently and the surprise on his face grows as Louis eases onto his knees on the dry ground with a fixed look staring upwards through his fanned out eyelashes.

“Yeah.” he breathes, a lick to his lower lip as he bares Harry’s cock again, this time intent on not moving until he’s made him come, preferably in his mouth. “Lucky me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, lovelies x
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://www.theprincessed.tumblr.com).


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